


devil's trap

by ymorton



Series: ghosties [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demonic Possession, Ghosts, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6144976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nick and harry, still driving around, still hunting scary stuff</p>
            </blockquote>





	devil's trap

**Author's Note:**

> part two of three!
> 
> 1/3 supernatural au, 1/3 the conjuring au, 1/3 weird made up shit
> 
> harry's a clairvoyant loner nick picked up a few years ago. for nick, it's the family business, and it always will be.
> 
> also it's the 1970s? i guess????? and there's a [mix](http://8tracks.com/ymort/salt-burn)
> 
> come say hi on tumblr it's ihavea1dbloghelp

They make it to Liverpool on a Friday afternoon, spurred on by rumors of strange disappearances. Harry reads the papers wherever they go, looks at the littlest stories, the odd stuff in the margins. He has a sense for it. He has a sense for a lot of things. 

They stop for lunch at a fish and chips shop, one where Nick’s been before, back when he was at uni. Being back in Liverpool puts him on edge, makes him tense. He’s almost entirely sure that no one would recognize him now - he’s lost weight, and he does his hair differently now, and he was only at uni for a year. Anyone who knew him back then has moved on, most likely. To London, or back home. 

But still. 

He goes to the loo at the fish shop, comes back to see Harry chatting up some teenage waitress with a short skirt and a bobbing ponytail. 

“- it’s _mad_ ,” she’s saying, watching Nick for a moment as Nick slides back into his seat. “It’s so scary." 

"Did you know anyone who disappeared?” Harry says gently, touching her arm. 

“Like - my friend’s boyfriend’s cousin,” she says, sniffing in hard, moving closer to him. Nick stares down at his chips, tries not to smack her hand away. Jealousy is unbecoming, Grimshaw. 

“I’m so sorry,” Harry murmurs. 

The girl turns to Nick, then, and something goes steely in her eyes for the slightest moment, like she’s sizing him up. 

“This local bloke, too,” she says. Nick’s watching where Harry’s hand is still stroking her arm, slowly, up and down. “Henry something. Holland? I remembered coz they both started with an H." 

Nick looks up, straight into the girl’s clear blue eyes. 

"Henry Holland?” he says, something shivering down his spine. “Is that what you said?" 

"I’m pretty sure,” she sniffles. “He’s been missing since Tuesday. It’s _so_ scary." 

"Just be safe,” Harry says, oblivious, squeezing her hand, and she nods, turns away, leaving them alone. 

Harry puts a chip into his mouth, looks up at Nick, eyebrows raising. 

“What’s wrong?" 

"Henry Holland,” Nick says, shakily. “I know him." 

"You - wait. Seriously?" 

"We were at uni together,” Nick whispers, fiddling with the peeling-off label of his bottle of Coke. “I - we. We were mates.”

They were more than that - or less than that, maybe, Nick’s not sure. But Harry doesn’t need to know that.  

He feels like he’s being watched, suddenly, some kind of weight on his back, but when he turns around there’s no one. Just the waitress, carrying three plates on each arm, her eyes flickering over to him while she walks. 

“That’s odd,” Harry says slowly, swirling a chip in ketchup. 

Nick snorts humorlessly. “Odd’s one word for it." 

"Think something’s off?” Harry asks, biting into his chip. “I do feel something sort of dark. But I can’t tell where it’s coming from. I’ve been way off since that tulpa in Cheltenham, my senses are all fuzzy." 

Nick nods slowly. "Or it’s a coincidence-" 

"But how often is that the case,” Harry sighs. 

“Not often.” Nick chews his thumbnail. “We’ll check it out, anyway." 

\---

Henry lives on the first floor of a big, sprawling old house on the outskirts of the city. 

They pull up an hour later, and as Nick steps out of the car and slides his sunglasses up his head, a girl calls from the front steps of the flat - "Grimmy?" 

Nick startles, stops dead in his tracks, Harry bumping into his back. 

"What?” Harry says. 

“Grimmy!” the girl calls again, in a familiar American accent, and Nick can see her clearly now - her hair’s different, dyed a light pink, and she’s older, but - oh, god. 

“Aimee,” he says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Hi." 

"Oh my _god_!” Aimee says, rushing down the steps, throwing her arms around Nick. “Oh my god, what are you - are you here because you heard about Henry? What the hell, Grim, I haven’t seen you in _years_ \- Christ, I thought you were dead or something! You didn’t keep in touch!" 

"Not dead,” Nick says, vaguely. Aimee smells like sharp sweet perfume, and her grip is tight, and it’s been a long time since Nick hugged anyone other than Harry. It’s strange. His arms feel funny doing it. “Good to see you." 

"God, you too,” she says, stepping back, eyes bright and curious, searching him. Shit. This could go wrong. Nick should bail now, probably - turn around, get back in the car, and go. 

But Harry steps forwards, sticks out a hand. 

“Hey,” he says. “I’m Harry, I work with Nick." 

"Aimee PhiIIips, good to meet you,” she says, shaking his hand. “Work with? Nick, what’re you doing now? I honestly haven’t heard from you since you left school." 

"You went to uni?” Harry says softly, and Nick resists the urge to put his hands over his face. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Well. Uh, I’m - uh, I’m doing some freelance work now. I was working with my brother-" 

"Andrew, I remember,” she says. 

“Yeah, er, he passed away, three years back,” Nick says, and Aimee winces, squeezes his shoulder. “Car accident." 

"Shit, I’m so sorry, Nick." 

"It’s alright.” Nick waves a hand. “Um. But - actually. Harry and I were just stopping by- because, um." 

"Because of Henry,” Aimee breathes, nodding. Ah, yes. Henry. The only boy Nick ever got off with at uni. Nick was in love with Henry for a few months, he remembers. Henry thought Nick was a bit of a pain in the arse. 

“Well, so, what’re the details?” Nick says, trying to sound like he knows at least what’s going on. 

Aimee bites her bottom lip, crossing an arm over her chest. “He didn’t come home to the flat, Tuesday night. The next day I tried - _everywhere_. Nothing. And then someone found his watch, outside a factory on the north side of town, and - and I dunno, they’re looking for him, but nothing’s turned up." 

"Tuesday?” Harry says, glancing at the front of the flat. 

“Yeah.” She looks at Nick. “How’d you hear?" 

"Uhh, just, you know, through the grapevine,” Nick says. “I just wanted to - to say, you know. Good luck, and I’m sorry. We should get going, but-" 

"I want a look inside,” Harry says suddenly, and before Nick can grab his arm he’s walking forward.

“Sorry, he’s - odd,” Nick says, sheepishly, and Aimee follows him following Harry, as Harry slips open the front door of the flat. 

“Sorry it’s a mess,” Aimee says, and Nick just nods, struck silent, because it’s not a mess at all. It’s perfect. 

There are fairy lights strung up over an empty fireplace, a couch covered in knitted blankets and brightly-colored pillows. Magazines spread out over the coffee table, a fluffy rug on the wooden floor, and the whole place smells like warm, sweet incense. 

Nick’s not sure why his throat hurts. It’s almost like deja vu, like he’s seen this place before. When he’s asleep, maybe. Or when he’s driving at night, Harry snuffling in his sleep in the passenger seat, and he’s making distant, grandiose plans of their life together. 

This is a home. 

God, Nick’s always wanted one. Somewhere to _stay_.

“It’s - nice,” he manages to say, around the stupidly jealous lump in his throat. “Lovely." 

"Thanks,” Aimee says, in slow bemusement. “Um, is he alright?" 

Nick drags his eyes away from the framed Monet print on the wall. Harry has one arm extended into empty air, and he’s breathing deeply and audibly. 

"He’s fine,” he says, face going hot. “Just a - a bit of a hippie, you know. Haz, how’re the vibes in here?" 

Aimee snorts behind her hand.

Harry turns around, face drawn and eyes wide, and oh, god, Nick knows that look. There’s something actually wrong, something that Nick’ll have to deal with. 

They can’t _be here_. This can’t be Nick’s job, not with - not with Aimee, and Henry, people he knew before. 

"Nick,” Harry says slowly, and Nick shakes his head, panicky. 

“Let’s talk outside,” he says, cutting Harry off. “Alright? Give us a minute, Aims?" 

"Of course,” Aimee says, eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Nick drags Harry outside. 

\---

“There’s something bad happening here,” Harry says, in a hushed low voice, his eyes dark. “I don’t know how I know. But it feels like a trap." 

"A trap?” Nick whispers, sneaking a glance back at the house. “How could it be a trap?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Harry says, his voice cracking plaintively. “God. I just - I don’t know. Something feels off. Like - something’s waiting.”

“Waiting for what? Henry’s already gone missing." 

Harry shakes his head, sticking a fingernail in his mouth to gnaw at. 

"I dunno,” he says, muffled. “I just - we didn’t know Henry was here in Liverpool, right? And he’s someone you knew, before?" 

"Yeah,” Nick says, slowly. 

“I just - god, Nick. I dunno. Something feels personal, here. Like someone’s waiting. For you." 

"I can’t do anything with that, love,” Nick says, frustrated, because Aimee’s inside, Nick’s best mate from his short-lived time at uni, and the only thing he wants to do is get back in the car and drive as far away as he possibly can. “And you said you’re feeling a bit muddled since Cheltenham - are you - are you saying you think we need to be here?" 

Harry chews his bottom lip. 

"I mean, something’s definitely off,” he says. “I say we stay and feel it out. And-" 

He stops, flicks his eyes up to Nick’s. 

"Don’t say I’m mental,” he says. “But I’d feel a lot better if we put down some devil’s traps in the house." 

"Demons, you think?” Nick says, swallowing hard. “Here?" 

"I don’t _know_ ,” Harry mutters, looking angry at himself. “I just think - I just think we should." 

"Alright, then we will,” Nick says quietly. “Just stay focused, yeah?" 

Harry nods, swallowing hard, and Nick thinks about kissing him, just for a second, until Aimee calls from the porch. 

"Nick!" 

He wheels around. 

"Yeah?”

“The cops just called,” she says, her eyes wide. “They found Henry." 

"Fuck,” Nick breathes, and Harry tugs at his sleeve, pushes him inside.

“Is he alright?” Nick asks, as Harry trails him into the house, shuts the door behind them. 

“Yeah,” Aimee says, wiping her hand over her eyes. “He’s - he’s really badly bruised, and, and like bleeding, like he’s been beat up, but he’s - he’s alright, they. They found him in - in the basement of that factory on the north side. His wrists were tied-" 

She cuts off, drops her head, and Harry puts a hand softly on her shoulder. Nick watches, numbly. 

"He’ll be alright,” Harry murmurs. 

“Yeah, I know, I just- god, it’s so fucked up, isn’t it?” she chokes out. “And they already found that guy last week - you heard about that, right?" 

"No,” Nick says, shooting a look over at Harry. “Which- guy?" 

"This guy, like, a kid!” She sucks in a deep shuddery breath. “Like eighteen years old. Had his throat slit." 

Harry’s eyes close when he hears that, pain passing over his face.

"That’s awful,” Nick says, mind racing. “I - so, is he, is Henry in hospital, or can you go-" 

"He wants me to pick him up,” Aimee says, scrubbing her wrist over her nose, sniffing in hard. “He’s at the police station over there, like. Half hour away or so." 

She runs her hand through her hair, steadying herself. 

"Hey,” she says. “You should come!" 

"I- I dunno,” Nick stammers. “We should probably get going-" 

"But he’d love to see you!” she says, voice trembling. “You can’t leave before he- Nick, c'mon, honestly, you wouldn’t believe how much we worried about you, I think it’d make him feel better to see you." 

Harry looks at Nick, eyes hooded, and Nick swallows hard. 

"I- okay, yeah,” he says, after a moment. “Sure." 

"Thanks,” Aimee breathes out, throwing her arms around him again. Nick pats her back, gives a look to Harry over her shoulder and nods just slightly.

Harry nods back. 

“Your friend could, uh, come too, if-”

“Can I just wait in here?” Harry interrupts, a bit bluntly. He’s like that sometimes, not great with people. Not awful, but just - too open, too obvious. “For you to come back, I mean." 

She shrugs, and then nods readily, says, "Lemme just - get my keys. God, I can’t - I hope he’s okay, Nick, I can’t fucking believe this. I’m just so happy he’s alright." 

"Me too,” Nick says, quietly, as she disappears into the other room, and then he pulls Harry close for a moment, whispers in his ear. 

“Under the rugs. And leave me a Bible or two." 

Harry breathes back, "There’s no welcome mat." 

Welcome mats are usually quite convenient, if they’re going to be bringing a demon back in with them. Nick hopes very much that that’s not the case, but. Well. He’s got to be prepared. 

"Kitchen rug,” he says back, scanning the small house. “Living room, both of them, alright?" 

Harry nods, brushes his soft mouth against Nick’s cheek and murmurs, "Be careful,” just as Aimee comes back into the room. 

Nick steps back, heart thudding, but Aimee doesn’t say anything, just zips up her jacket and nods at him.

“Let’s go,” she says. “I don’t want him to wait. I can’t fucking believe this." 

"Me neither,” Nick says, and follows her out the door. 

Aimee turns the radio up loud and drums her fingers nervously on the steering wheel. They don’t really talk, which is fine by Nick. 

They park in front of the small police station, and at the front desk Aimee says, “Henry Holland, we’re looking for Henry-" 

"Ah, yes,” the man says, giving her pink hair a long, lecherous look. Aimee doesn’t notice, peering through her glasses behind him to see Henry. “You his girlfriend?" 

Aimee snorts. "God no. Housemate. Is he okay?" 

"I think he’s finishing up with his statement now,” the man says. “So where do you live?" 

"Other side of town,” Aimee says vaguely. 

Nick’s wheeling around to inspect the rest of the station, and he feels something crawling cold up his spine just as Aimee says, “Henry!" 

Nick turns around fast. That’s- that’s Henry, being led out of the police station, a bruise on one cheek and his glasses cracked in one eye. Nick exhales, long and slow, because it’s been - it’s been years, and Nick used to _dream_ about Henry, used to imagine what his life was like, if he was happy, if he still kissed boys. 

When Henry sees him, his face splits into a broad smile, and he raises an eyebrow. Nick feels his stomach flip. 

"Aimee,” Henry says, eyes sliding away from Nick, and Nick sticks his hands nervously into his pockets as Aimee hugs Henry gently, kisses both of his cheeks. 

“God, I was so fucking _scared_ ,” Aimee says, wiping her eyes again, fiercely. “Damnit, Hens, I was so freaked out." 

"Mr. Holland’s very lucky to be alive,” a policeman says, leaning against the front desk. “One of our own was found just thirty meters from Mr. Holland. His- he, he’d been killed. Throat cut." 

"Oh my _god_ ,” Aimee chokes out. “I’m - I’m so sorry." 

"Yeah, it was - it was a big loss,” the cop says, crossing an arm over his chest. “Young guy, too, was Blake. Twenty-six." 

Henry looks at Nick again, and Nick shivers. _Hi_ , Henry mouths. 

_Hey_ , Nick breathes back, and then Henry’s coming to him, wrapping his arms tight around him, and Nick sighs into it. 

"Can’t believe you’re here,” Henry says into his ear. He smells strange, metallic. Weirdly familiar. “Holy fucking hell. You’re _here_." 

"I’m here,” Nick chokes out, squeezing him tighter. 

Henry pulls back, grinning. 

“You’re really here,” he says. “How fortunate." 

His voice lilts at the end, giddily, and Nick feels that same wash of cold down his spine. God, Henry could’ve _died_. How odd, that he got here the same day Henry was found. 

Henry smiles, tilts his head, and Nick smiles absently back, his mind working. 

How odd. 

\---

They make introductions when they get back to the house, and Henry refuses any sort of help about a million times. He’s limping, but he still insists on helping Aimee make dinner - spaghetti with tomato sauce and parmesan, a salad drizzled with olive oil and vinegar. Nick and Harry help as well, not talking to each other much, just listening as Aimee asks Henry a load of tearful questions and Henry answers. 

It’s weird, honestly, to have Harry and Henry in the same room. The only two boys Nick’s ever loved. Ever kissed. 

They sit down at the small round table in the living room.

"So, did you - did you see the person who killed that cop? It was the same person who- who, who took you, right?” Aimee asks, gulping at her glass of wine. 

Henry takes a bite of salad. “I didn’t see him,” he says. “It was- too dark, and he had me blindfolded for a while." 

"Jesus,” Aimee mutters. “Fucking Christ." 

"I actually don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s alright,” Henry says, solemnly. “Just. Feeling a bit - you know." 

Aimee nods. 

"But you never saw his face?” Harry asks, a forkful of pasta held to his mouth. 

“I just fucking said that, didn’t I?” Henry snaps, teeth baring. 

There’s a tense pause, and then Henry smiles, graciously. 

“Sorry,” he says to Harry. “Like I said, I’m just a bit-" 

"S'alright,” Harry says mildly, just as Aimee says, “God, of course, Henry, don’t worry." 

Henry nods, taking another bite of salad, and for a second his eyes on Harry turn steely and unforgiving. 

Nick pretends he didn’t see. 

"I’m just gonna grab the rest of the salad!” he says, brightly, and Henry grins at him, all trace of coldness wiped off his face.

“So good to have you here, Nick,” he says. “Honestly." 

"It is pretty amazing, innit.” Nick pushes his chair back. “Harry, mind giving me a hand?" 

"Yeah, of course,” Harry says, shoving his chair back with a bit more force than necessary. 

He follows Nick into the kitchen, and Nick grabs the salad bowl, startles when Harry whispers in his ear. 

“That’s - that’s not Henry." 

"Yeah,” Nick breathes. “Something’s off. I felt it at the station." 

Harry curses in Nick’s ear, lets out a breath. "So what do we -" 

"Aww,” comes a voice, smug and drawling, from the doorway. “And we were having such a lovely time, weren’t we?" 

Nick turns, and his muscles tense up. 

Henry has Aimee under his arm, a hand over her mouth and a steak knife to her throat. Aimee’s eyes are wide, watery and terrified, and Nick shakes his head, takes a step back. 

As he watches, Henry’s eyes flicker and go black - a pure, shiny, familiar black. 

Nick’s stomach drops. 

"Let her go,” he says, low in his throat. “You’re not here for her." 

"I dunno, she’s a pain in my arse,” Henry says, looking bored, pressing the knife against Aimee’s throat. Nick watches as a drop of blood wells up. Aimee’s chest heaves as she sobs desperately against Henry’s palm. 

“Put the fucking knife down and we can talk,” Nick says, putting his hands out, and Henry’s eyes snap over to Harry, his jaw clenching. 

“Get the fuck out of my head, piss-ant!” he snaps, and he uncovers Aimee’s mouth, flicks his fingers to the side and tosses Harry against the wall.

Harry hits hard, slides down to the ground with a yelp of pain, but Nick can’t think about that right now. He can’t. 

“Please, please, god, please-” Aimee begs, voice hoarse, tears spilling from her eyes. “Henry, please-" 

"Henry?” Henry says, laughing, wedging his hand over Aimee’s mouth again, her moans muffled. “Oh, sweetheart, catch _up_ , Henry’s not here. She’s not too bright, is she?" 

"Let her go,” Nick says, keeping his voice steady, easy. “Or I’ll kill myself before you can get to me." 

Henry shrugs. "Sounds alright to me. Don’t much matter how the job’s done, does it, just that you join me in hell where you belong-" 

He looks at Nick, hungrily, and then shoves Aimee away from him by the small of her back. She stumbles into the wall, whimpering. 

"Alright, fine, I’ll play along,” he says, spreading his hands wide, still holding the knife. “Let’s begin, shall we?" 

Harry’s in a heap on the kitchen floor, and Aimee’s crying, but Nick can’t think about them right now. All he can think about is Henry, advancing towards him, his eyes pure black and a grin curling over his mouth. 

"Oh, Nick,” Henry says, softly. “I’ve heard of you, you know. Nick Grlmshaw. So nice to finally meet, isn’t it?”

“Mm, what’ve you heard?” Nick says, careful not to look behind him, taking a step back and to the left until he’s - ah, yes, until he’s reached the woven kitchen rug, where Harry did his work earlier. Now just - now beyond that, a few more feet, and it’ll all be over, before it’s even started. 

“Not much,” Henry murmurs. “Heard a lot more about your brother. He actually had the balls to take down a few of my kind, didn’t he? Course, he got what he deserved in the end." 

Nick huffs a soft laugh, steps off the rug just as Henry steps on. _There_ it is. 

"Bet you wish it’d been one of you lot to kill him, don’t you?” Nick says, smiling. “You just can’t seem to knock us down, no matter how hard you try. A lowly _shapeshifter_ , god, that must’ve stung." 

Harry’s rising to his feet, slowly, supporting himself on the wall. There’s blood dripping down his cheek. 

"It’ll be fun, killing you,” Henry says with a broad grin, and Nick takes two steps back and swallows hard. 

“Come at me, love, please,” he says, spreading his arms wide. “I’m ready. Kill me like you wanted to kill Andrew." 

"You lot were always smug.” Henry takes a step forward, and then stops. Tries again. 

“Only when we have a reason to be,” Nick says, his fists clenching. “Walked right into it, didn’t you? You must be pretty bloody simple to fall for a devil’s trap under a bleeding _rug_. First time out of hell, is it?" 

Henry’s face is going red, dark eyes burning, as he tries to move and stays pinned, there, on the rug. "Fuck you!” he yells, and Nick actually does laugh, then. This demon is so _profane_. Figures. 

Harry’s on his feet now, wiping blood off his mouth, digging in the drawer and pulling out a Bible he must’ve stashed there earlier. When he hands it to Nick, Henry starts talking, practically foaming at the mouth. 

They always start talking when they’re cornered. 

“He fucking hated you, you know that?” he says, neck twisting, teeth baring. “Henry did. He let you suck his cock but he hated you, thought you were desperate and pathetic and a sick little faggot -" 

"Flattery will get you nowhere, darling,” Nick says, busily flipping pages. 

“He hated you, and don’t get me started on _that_ bitch!” Henry screams, pointing at Aimee, who sucks in a terrified breath, mascara streaked down her face. “She told him all this shit about you, Nick. They all wondered why you _left them_ , but they forgot pretty fucking easily. Didn’t make much of an impression. Glad to be rid of you, actually-" 

"My favorite thing,” Nick says idly. “Is when a demon thinks it can get to me by saying the same things I say to myself all the bloody time. You always underestimate the depths of my low self-esteem." 

He laughs brightly in Henry’s face, and Henry growls, low in his throat, furious and desperate. 

"Now ‘scuse me for a minute, if you don’t mind? _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ -" 

Henry grunts, tosses his head. "You’ll die soon, Grimshaw. We’ll - we’ll take the pretty one, first - rip his throat out while you watch, pluck out his eyeballs, drink his blood-" 

Harry just stares, his jaw set and his lip curled. Good boy. 

”- _omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio_ -“ Nick reads, watching as Henry starts to smoke, to stumble. 

”- gut him like a fish,“ he chokes out. ” - make you watch-“ 

Nick reads a little faster, just because he can. 

The demon leaves Henry with a rageful shout, a column of black smoke up and through the low ceiling, and Henry collapses, head hitting the ground with a hard thunk. 

Nick kneels at his side, turns Henry over, as gently as he can. 

"Hens?” he says, his old nickname from uni, feeling oddly right in Nick’s mouth, like no time’s passed at all since they saw each other. 

Harry’s with Aimee, wetting a flannel to dab blood and makeup off her face, talking to her in a low, soft voice. 

Henry’s eyes flutter open. 

“What,” he says, voice hoarse from screaming. “Where- where am I?" 

"At your flat,” Nick says, quietly, touching the bruise that’s rising on Henry’s forehead. “How do you feel?" 

"I - I can’t -” Henry chokes out, his face pale, and Nick has just enough time to guide him upright before Henry’s sicking up on the rug, choking out dark, watery bile. 

Nick rubs his back. Henry wipes his mouth when he’s done, his hand  trembling. It smells like sulfur, thick and nauseating.

“Oh, god,” he says. “I - I - what happened, it’s all - what are you _doing_ here?" 

"Yeah, I’d sure fucking like to know,” Aimee chokes out, from the kitchen sink. “Who the hell _are_ you?" 

"Fetch Henry some water, will you, love?” Nick asks, softly, and Harry nods, fumbles to fill a glass from the tap. 

“Nick,” Aimee says, voice cracking. “If that’s - even your fucking name-" 

Nick laughs sourly. "That’s my name." 

"I don’t - understand,” Henry says shakily. “Why are you in Liverpool? What- what happened?" 

So he doesn’t remember much, then. It varies from person to person, Nick’s found. Though he doesn’t usually tend to stick around for conversation. 

Harry kneels at Henry’s side, hands him the glass of water. 

” _Nick_ ,“ Aimee demands. 

"Yeah, alright,” Nick says, standing up, steeling himself. “I - I’m - this is why I left uni. Alright? Because this is what I do." 

"Fucking - exorcisms?” Aimee says, voice high. 

“Not just exorcisms, but sure,” Nick says, not making eye contact with her. “When I have to." 

"Exorcisms?” Henry whispers. “Was that - I -" 

"You were possessed,” Harry says, voice low. “By a demon. And Nick saved your life - both of your lives, so maybe a bleedin’ thank-you is in order.”

Aimee and Henry both gape at him. Nick does a bit as well. 

He huffs a laugh, and Harry looks at him, eyes fierce but softening. 

“Sorry,” he says, because of course he does. “That was rude." 

"Who the fuck even are you?” Henry demands, sounding a bit more himself. “What the _fuck_ is even happening?" 

"You said he works with you,” Aimee says slowly, looking from Harry to Nick. “So you - you both do- that? Exorcising - demons? Or whatever?" 

Nick shrugs. 

"Suppose so, yeah.” He scratches his head, nods at Harry, and Harry starts to clean up, tugging a rosary out of the cutlery drawer where he stashed it, picking up the Bible Nick threw aside after the exorcism. “Don’t worry, we’ll clear out in a minute." 

"I didn’t - did I hurt anyone?” Henry says, sounding faint. “You said I was possessed-" 

Aimee looks up at Nick, eyes widening. 

"There was - there was a cop,” Nick says, heavily. “He’s dead, unfortunately." 

"I killed him?” Henry whispers. 

Nick nods, not making eye contact with him. “Most likely, yes. If you get off the rug, I can clean up this devil’s trap-” he says, and instead of moving, Henry starts to cry - dry choked-off sobs, shoving a hand over his face. 

“Shit,” Nick mutters, and Harry gives him a dirty look, shoves the Bible and cross into Nick’s hand, and kneels beside Henry, puts his arms around him. 

Aimee looks at Nick.

“I feel like I don’t even know you,” she says, plainly, searching his face. 

“Did you ever?” Nick says, trying and failing not to sound bitter. “Seems like I was easy to forget." 

"Yeah fucking - _right_ ,” Aimee snaps, pushing herself off the kitchen counter with both hands. “Don’t give me that shit, Grimmy. You _left_. You fucking _left_ , we didn’t even know where you’d gone. I missed you, you asshole, and you never tried to talk to us again! What the hell was that?" 

Nick looks away from her, because his chest is clenching, fierce painful little pulses, and he feels sick. He feels sick the same way he did when Andrew drove him away from uni in his car with Nick’s rucksack in the backseat, didn’t talk for four hours, snapped whenever Nick tried to speak. 

"I couldn’t,” he says, shakily. 

“Oh bull _shit_ , you could’ve sent a postcard from wherever the hell you’ve been-" 

"No, I _couldn’t_ ,” he says, sharp. “You see what kind of shit this is? You see what that demon threatened to do to Harry? That’s what happens to people I care about. They’d use you, you get that? Torture you for fun, make me watch. I can’t be anyone’s _friend_." 

His voice cracks hard, and he sucks in a sharp breath to keep himself from sobbing outright. 

"Grim,” Aimee says softly, and god, Nick does not need tenderness right now. He needs to leave town. 

“This is what happens to people I barely even bloody know,” he says, waving his hand at Henry. “Alright? This wasn’t _random_. It possessed Henry to draw me here. And I should’ve fucking seen it sooner." 

Aimee’s just watching him. 

"So I just- I can’t,” Nick says, shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“Andrew got killed by - by a monster, or something?” Aimee says, ignoring him. “That thing, about the car crash - that was a lie?”

“I can’t - god, that’s not important right now,” Nick says, waving her off. “I can’t talk about that with you. I can’t - do this, with you, play nice and pretend I’m normal, I just - Harry, get him up, get him to bed, I’ll clean up the traps." 

"Nick,” Aimee says, grabbing his hand, and Nick jerks away, heart pounding. “Nick, just - stay, for a bit, okay? Stay the night. I know - I get what you’re saying, but like - don’t run away again, please. Just stay for the night." 

"I didn’t run away the first time!” Nick snaps, because that hits a nerve. “Andrew - I didn’t have a choice, alright? My dad died and I was needed. I didn’t want to leave, alright?" 

He stops, cuts himself off, and from the floor, Henry says, "We - we didn’t know, Grimmy.”

“It’s fine,” Nick says, forcing a smile. “Harry, let’s go." 

"We should stay,” Harry says, looking up at them from the floor, his eyes wide. “Nick, it’s fine, I’ll - I’ll keep an eye out, and it’s not like they’ll come back tonight, we might as well just -" 

"Harry-" 

"Nick,” Harry says, low, firm. “We’re staying." 

"I like this one,” Henry says, smiling weakly at Harry. “He’s alright." 

"Pretty, too,” Aimee adds, and she grabs Nick’s hand, when he’s not looking. Nick tries his hardest not to yank it away. “Just for the night, okay? Can sleep on the sofa if you like." 

"Don’t mind sharing, do you?” Henry asks, and when Nick looks at him he’s arching an eyebrow, wickedly. He looks a bit less sick when he does that, a bit less terrified. Nick’s glad for it. 

“Shut up,” he says, and Henry laughs, weakly. Winks at him.

\---

Later, when Harry’s half-asleep on the sofa, Henry beckons him outside to the back porch for a smoke. Nick’s surprised when Henry pulls out a pipe and a lighter instead of a pack of fags, but he’s up for it. It’s been fucking ages since he got high. 

It only takes about three minutes for Henry to start questioning Nick about things Nick really, really shouldn’t talk about. 

“So. Like. Maybe I’m not supposed to ask this, but.” Henry passes the pipe over, looks up at Nick. “Have- have you ever killed anyone?" 

Nick takes it, takes a deep breath. Is he really doing this? 

"Yeah,” he says, holding out his hand for the lighter. “I have." 

Henry nods, watching him. He looks scared, like he’s bitten off more than he can chew, just by asking. 

"I’ve never killed a human, on purpose, if it wasn’t necessary to save a lot of other people,” Nick recites. “But that’s a lot of caveats, innit." 

"This is so mad,” Henry mumbles. “You’re like some kind of superhero." 

Nick snorts bitterly. "Yeah bloody right." 

"You save people.”

“I kill things,” Nick says, before he takes a hit. God, it’s been ages. He feels suddenly boneless, relaxed, like he’s taking a deep breath for the first time in months. “S'not exactly - heroic." 

Henry hums, noncommittally, takes the pipe back. 

"You know it wasn’t your fault,” Nick says, uncomfortably, after a half minute of silence. “The cop, who died. You couldn’t control what you did." 

Henry lets out a sour, humorless laugh. "Funny how that doesn’t make me feel better." 

"It wasn’t you,” Nick says, low, leaning forward. “I’ve seen - I’ve seen things, with demons, alright? I’ve seen a mum kill her own baby. I’ve seen a man drive into a plaza, mow people down, and then wake up and not know what the hell he did. Demons fucking - they get off on it. On making humans inhuman, and then making them hate themselves." 

Henry stares at him, gone very still.

"You’ve seen all that?” he says. 

Nick shrugs, looking down. “Or my brother has, and he’s told me." 

"How’d he die?” Henry says, plainly. He blows out a cloud of smoke. 

It’s been four years, now. Nick should be over it, and most days he is. It’s a bit odd, though, talking to someone who knows what Nick does. Being able to tell the truth. 

“Working a job in Somerset,” he says. “This shapeshifter- nasty thing, we’d gone up against it before. Had a thing for my brother." 

"A _thing_?" 

"Like, a - like a revenge sort of thing. Dunno. I never asked, really. He didn’t like if I asked a lot of questions. So this job - the shifter was robbing banks all through town. Finally we caught up with it, and - and Andrew had him cornered. Her, actually, she was in the body of this bank teller. Young. They were fighting, and when I - just as I - as I found them, she slit his throat." 

Henry looks pale. 

Nick swallows hard. "I managed to put a stake in her, but he was gone already. Bled out. I didn’t - like. For a while it didn’t seem real, you know? Felt like I was running on instinct. I took the car keys, took his gun, and I ran." 

He remembers that night vividly, the way it felt to leave Andrew behind in the stairwell of a small-town bank, blood still leaking in gulps from the slash in his neck. Andrew didn’t say anything before he died - just stared blankly up at Nick as his eyes faded. 

But Nick knew what to do. Andrew had always made that clear - cut your losses and run. Don’t worry about a body, or a burial, unless there’s time to salt and burn. If he’s in a jam, just go. 

He wonders sometimes if Andrew’s spirit is still around.  He’s been tempted, more than once, to go back to that bank with Harry, see what Harry felt. There’s probably nothing - Andrew probably took precautions. 

But still, Nick wonders. 

"Did Harry know him?” Henry says. “Uh, he’s fit, by the way." 

Nick flushes down his neck, laughs sheepishly. "In’t he though?" 

"Very flower child,” Henry says, nodding knowledgeably. “Nice little arse, too.”

“Jesus, Hens,” Nick says, covering his face. 

“What? It’s true!" 

Nick snorts. "I - alright. No, Harry didn’t know him. I met him two years ago, in Cheshire." 

"Bakery, he said." 

"Yeah, uh. It’s just - we didn’t say- much about this, because he can be prickly about it with strangers, but. So. He’s a bit different?" 

Henry pulls a face at him. "Oh, like he hunts demons or sommat? Clarify for me, please, Nicholas." 

Nick laughs, ducks his head. "Sorry. Um. Harry’s clairvoyant. Means he can, uh, communicate with spirits, and other - things. That aren’t human." 

"He can talk to ghosts,” Harry says, deadpan. “You’re fucking kidding me." 

"How is _that_ the strangest thing you’ve heard all day?” Nick asks, laughing. 

“What’s that even mean? He can have, like, conversations?" 

"Sometimes,” Nick says, beckoning for the pipe. “More often it’s just a sense he has. Like today, he went into the house for a minute and then told me it was a trap, that something was waiting. He just - feels things, that- that I can’t." 

"Jesus,” Henry mutters. “That’s mad." 

"It’s saved my arse more than once,” Nick says with a sigh. “Wouldn’t have put down that devil’s trap if he hadn’t told me to. Dunno how I survived without him." 

"Is he always _right_?” Henry says, pulling a face. “Or does he get it entirely wrong sometimes and then he’s like, oh, shit, soz-" 

"He’s usually right." 

"Jesus." 

"I mean - he’s felt things that weren’t relevant to the case, but - in general, he’s usually right, even if it’s just a sense." 

Henry nods, watching him carefully. 

"So how long have you two been - you know. Shagging. You are shagging, right?" 

"Sod off,” Nick says, kicking him, his cheeks heating up again. God. It’s mad how Henry can just say it, like that, like it’s normal. _Shagging_. “We- er. About a year and a half, I guess." 

Henry snorts. "You move fast, Grim." 

"Shut up.” Nick swallows hard. “Do you still, um. Do you still - you know. Do things with blokes?" 

Henry laughs. "Do things with blokes? Are we eighteen?" 

Nick waves him off, feeling like a child. 

"Yes, babe, I do things with blokes,” Henry says, blowing out a luxurious cloud of smoke. “Since I’m bent." 

He grins over at Nick. 

"Me too,” Nick says, his face red. “Bent. I mean." 

"I know." 

Nick nods, looking down.

"Kinda had a thing for you in uni,” he says, hesitantly. “I mean." 

"I know that too." 

"I mean it’s fine if you didn’t feel- the same, you know,” Nick says, laughing sheepishly. “Obviously. It’s fine. I wasn’t trying to, like, bring it up." 

"Hey,” Henry says, patting Nick’s knee. “That shit I said. When - when I had that thing in me. Wasn’t true, you know?" 

"Doesn’t matter if it was,” Nick says, tugging away, giving Henry a smile, forced on his face. “Honestly." 

"It wasn’t, though.” Henry squeezes his arm. “I mean, yeah, you irritated me sometimes, coz you were an annoying little shit. Always talkin my fucking _ear_ off about being Northern-" 

Nick laughs, his throat tight. 

"Was kind of a shit, back then,” he says, shrugging. “Sorry." 

"It’s uni, we were all arseholes,” Henry laughs. “That’s like, the point.”

“Wouldn’t know,” Nick says, with a bitter twist to his voice that makes his cheeks flush. 

Henry nods, watching him. 

“Well, we all grew up,” he says. “I’m glad you’re alright, Grim. Aimee and I, we thought - you know, we thought we’d lost you completely." 

Nick breathes out slowly. "Probably be easier if you had,” he says. “I’m not the best person to know." 

"Glad I do, though,” Henry says, poking him in the stomach, then leaning forward to kiss his cheek. He stands up, offers Nick his hand to pull him up, and nudges open the back door, lets him inside the house.

 "Good night,“ he says, putting his lighter in his pocket and the pipe on the kitchen table. "And, you know. Thanks for saving my life.”

Nick nods, waving his hand in the air. “S'my job." 

"Apparently so.” Henry stares at him for a second, then shakes his head, laughing. “God. This is mad. Go to bed, sorry the sofa’s tiny." 

"It’s nothing, it’s fine, we’ve had worse,” Nick says, just as he hears the blankets rustle behind him. 

“Hiya!” Henry stage-whispers, as Nick turns around. Harry’s sitting up on the sofa, blankets swaddled around his waist and his eyes heavy-lidded, half-asleep. His hair’s dark and curling wildly around his face.

He waves, mumbles, “You alright?" 

"Be there in a minute, love,” Nick says, waving back, stupidly. Harry nods, jaw set like an exhausted toddler, and burrows back down into the sofa again. 

When he turns back to Henry, Henry’s grinning wickedly at him. 

“Jesus, Nicholas,” he whispers. “You’re like proper in love, aren’t you." 

Nick sticks his tongue out, shoves Henry’s shoulder, and Henry stumbles back, laughing, brushing himself off.

"Good _night_ , Grim." 

"Good night." 

\---

The sofa _is_ tiny, but Nick doesn’t mind. Harry’s warm, and he smells good, and it was a long bloody day. Exorcisms wear Nick right out. He could sleep for ages.  

Harry finds his mouth in the darkness, kisses Nick quietly, softly, and Nick runs his hand down the smooth curve of Harry’s back, all the way to his arse.

"Grim?” Harry whispers. 

Nick hums, kissing him again, stroking gently over the plaster on Harry’s cheek. “What?" 

"Today - today, with that demon. He said I was in its head." 

Nick thinks back. God, he _did_ say that - right before he threw Harry against the wall. 

"Yeah,” he says. “Do you - do you know why it might have said that?" 

Harry breathes out slow. 

"Maybe,” he says, hesitantly. “Maybe, um. I felt a bit - I was just - I was _thinking_ so hard, you know, and I was so angry, and it felt a bit like - like. Like I could - sort of, you know. See its mind. Touch it." 

His voice is low, tentative. 

"Felt like pushing up against something heavy, and - and dark, and bad, you know, like something really bad,” he murmurs. “And it burned, sort of, made my head hurt. I’ve never done that." 

Nick turns it over in his mind, rubbing Harry’s back while he thinks. 

"You think it’s alright?” Harry whispers. “I don’t - it freaked me out, Nick. I just. I just don’t want to hurt anyone." 

"I know, love, you won’t,” Nick says, not entirely sure. “You won’t, you couldn’t." 

Harry stiffens in his arms. 

"You don’t know everything about me,” he mumbles. 

Nick’s skin prickles, but he doesn’t move away. 

“I know that you’re good,” he says. “You know that you’re good. Long as you remember that, we’ll be alright." 

Harry’s quiet for a long moment. 

"Think I’m good?” he whispers eventually. 

Nick kisses the side of his soft head. “I know you’re good." 

There’s a silence, and when Harry talks next it’s thick and raw, his voice breaking. 

"No one thinks I’m-” he starts, and then stops, sucks in a breath. “I’m not good all the _time_ , Nick." 

Nick keeps his face in Harry’s hair. 

"I know that,” he murmurs. “I know that. It’s alright." 

Harry sniffles loudly, nods and says, "I’m never going to hurt you." 

"I know that,” Nick says, holding him tighter, eyes widening in the darkness. 

Harry settles, then, body going loose. “Okay,” he says sleepily. “Night." 

And in a minute he’s asleep. 

Nick lies awake for a while, listening to Harry breathe, listening to the creak of the wind dragging branches against the windows. 

When he falls asleep, it’s to the sound of Harry’s voice, echoing in his head. 

_I’m not good all the time._

Nick sleeps hard, and doesn’t dream. 

\---

They take off in late morning, after eggs and toast and a round of orange-juice toasts to the magic of life and love and demon-hunting. It’s ridiculous how fast Henry and Aimee have adjusted to the idea that Nick _hunts bloody demons_. It’s pretty fucking great, actually, and Nick finds himself wishing he didn’t have to leave.  

It’s an odd feeling. It wears off within an hour of being on the road, because Nick’s very, very good at leaving. 

An hour later, Harry spots a field of cows and begs Nick to pull over. 

"If we stop, we won’t make it to Hertfordshire by sundown,” Nick says, but he’s a sucker for Harry’s pout, and he’s already slowing down.

“Ten minutes,” Harry says, squeezing his hand, and he slips out of the car. 

Nick parks on the shoulder, gets out to see Harry clambering over the low wooden fence that separates the road from the field. The cows are old and placid, with big dark eyes, and Harry walks up to the closest one, murmuring something Nick can’t hear. 

“Nick!” Harry calls back to him, twisting around, grinning a mile wide, knee-deep in grass. His worn gray t-shirt’s riding up his stomach, and his black jeans are so tight, hugging his hips and arse, Nick’s shocked he managed to get over the fence. “C'mere!" 

Nick shakes his head, shielding his eyes with one hand. "No bleeding way." 

"She’s so sweet,” Harry says, rubbing over her head. The cow’s blinking at him, moon-eyed and slow. “Come heeere, Nick." 

Nick sighs, and climbs over the fence. 

Harry takes more than ten minutes, of course. He pets the cow for ages, makes Nick touch the silky soft of her ear, her big wet nose, lets her eat grass from his hand, snuffling and getting his palm wet. 

"She likes you,” he says at one point, voice soft. “I can tell." 

"Does she broadcast like people do?” Nick asks curiously, as he runs his hand over the top of her head, skin and fur stretched tight over bone. 

“Not in the same way,” Harry says thoughtfully, and then he smiles crookedly. “But enough." 

They climb back over the fence, and Nick leans against it, digs out  a pack of fags. Only one car’s gone by in the whole time they were there. The road is deserted. 

Harry sighs next to him, and Nick looks over to see him stretched out, propped against the fence, gloriously loose-limbed. The late afternoon sun’s lighting his face, making him glow, and his eyes are closed, soft lips parted. His hair hangs loose, curling and thick, and for a good five seconds Nick can’t _breathe_ , just from watching him. 

As he watches, Harry sighs again, puts his hand out into empty air the way he does when he’s sensing something. 

A grin curls at the corner of his mouth.

"Feel anything out there?” Nick asks, taking a drag on his cigarette. 

He’s always wondered what it’d be like, to feel things the way Harry does. It’s like Harry’s _open_ , like a shell that’s cracked and spread carelessly wide, and anything can seep in. The bad stuff - the voices, the ghosts, the demons - but god, there must be good stuff too. 

Like now. Like right now. Harry looks blissful, and Nick feels very far away from him. 

“So much,” Harry breathes, neck tilting back, and for a moment he’s entirely otherworldly. 

But then he opens his eyes again, looks at Nick, eyes drowsy like they get after a long drive or a good shag. 

“Let’s get on the road,” he says.

When they get back in the car, it takes ten minutes for Nick to speak, but Harry waits, like he knows it’s coming. 

“Hey,” Nick says eventually, and Harry hums, watching him, expectant. 

Nick coughs, runs a hand through his hair. 

“You make it feel like a road trip,” he says eventually, and immediately blushes red down his neck. How stupid. “Like. Like we’re having fun. You know? All this. The job. You make it not awful. And it was awful, before you." 

He coughs again, tries to keep his eyes off Harry, but he can feel Harry staring. 

When he looks, Harry’s eyes are dark and dreamy. 

"Love you too, Grim,” he says, too-knowing, and Nick lets out a sharp defensive laugh, stares at the road. Harry’s such an idiot. He loves too much, and he’s too open, too easy, and it’s gonna bite him in the arse someday. It’s gonna bite them both in the arse. 

“Yeah, alright,” he mutters. “Shut it.”

Harry gently takes his hand on the gearstick, and Nick doesn’t pull away. 

\---

They drive until it’s dark, stop for gas and a scattered supper of biscuits and beef sticks and sweets. When they get back in the car, Nick switches the brights on to illuminate the country road ahead and Harry makes himself comfortable under his blanket, curls up in the big front seat and talks, quietly. 

“I need to sleep,” Nick moans, two hours later, interrupting a story about the time Harry dreamed he would find the body of a dog and then he did, a week later, in a ditch behind his school. It’s actually a pretty fascinating story - Harry was eight, which means he’d manifested his clairvoyance at least slightly at that point, which is unheard of - but Nick’s eyelids are fluttering, and he’s nearly asleep, keeps swerving just slightly and then shaking himself awake when the car vibrates on the shoulder. 

“Let’s just park,” Harry suggests, chewing a bright red gummy fish, one long leg kicked up on the dashboard. “Sleep in the back. Been a while since we did that." 

Nick’s too tired to argue, so he pulls off the road. 

Ten minutes later he’s curled up with Harry in the wide backseat of the truck, the blanket tugged over them both. 

"This is like out of a film,” Harry whispers, one of his arms wrapped around Nick’s back, his fingers moving restlessly against Nick’s shirt. “Some axe murderer with a hook-hand is going to murder us both." 

"That’s cheery, thanks,” Nick mumbles, into the sweet-smelling mess of Harry’s hair. 

Harry giggles, and then his hand slides down to cup Nick’s arse. 

“You never told me you went to uni,” he says, moving his hand back and forth slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me?" 

Nick is awake, now, like someone’s poured cold water over his head. Harry can do that to him - his long fingers teasing at Nick’s arse over his pants, his touch light and maddening. 

"I didn’t - it didn’t seem important,” Nick says, swallowing, moving down against Harry’s hips. He shifts the angle, and ah - yeah, there’s Harry’s cock. Half-hard, stretching out the cotton of his briefs, stiffening up against Nick’s thigh. 

“Feels important to me,” Harry says quietly. 

“It was only a year, anyway.” He sits up, the blanket sliding off his shoulders, and tugs Harry’s black briefs down, his hands curling around Harry’s warm thighs. 

“A year is a long time-" 

"Can we not talk about it while we’re fucking?” Nick says, interrupting him. Harry’s beneath him, one leg hanging off the seat, all his skin glowing in the moonlight. His head is propped on a pillow, and he’s watching Nick. 

“Fine,” Harry says softly, and he goes quiet when Nick shoves his t-shirt up, kisses at the soft rise of Harry’s belly. Harry’s gained weight since he started out with Nick. He was bony, before, painfully narrow and gaunt in the face, his eyes too-wide and always hungry. Nick knows it’s because he didn’t have a goddamn quid to spend on food. Knows Harry lived off stale bakery scraps and cans of beans on toast. 

Why he did that, when he lived ten minutes from his mum and his sister, is something Nick doesn’t know. 

If he brings it up, Harry’s eyes go shuttered, and he looks out the window like he needs to escape. Nick lets him have his secrets. It’s only fair. 

Harry chokes out a breath when Nick licks the head of his cock, thumbs his foreskin back and licks until he can taste Harry, leaking bitter onto his tongue. 

“Fuck,” Harry moans out, spreading his legs wider, his cock flexing against Nick’s bottom lip, and he smells so good, tastes so good. Nick’s mouth is watering helplessly. Sometimes he thinks about what Andrew would do if he could see Nick now, sucking off a boy in the backseat of his beloved truck. 

Doesn’t matter, though. Andrew’s gone. 

Nick shakes himself, focuses on the heat of Harry’s cock on his tongue, leaking against the roof of his mouth. Harry is breathing deep and steady beneath him, and slowly, one of his hands slides up Nick’s shoulder into his hair. 

Nick shudders at that, a hot liquid pulse in his belly, and sucks down the solid width of Harry’s prick. He jerks Harry off with his other hand,  wanking whatever bit of him Nick can’t reach with his mouth, and Harry scritches his scalp, tugs his hair gently, hips working upwards. The car is silent except for the wet slick sounds of Nick’s mouth, and Harry’s occasional moan, or muttered curse. 

“Nick,” Harry mumbles, when Nick’s picked up the pace, taken in as much as he can. Nick slips his hand around to cup the weight of Harry’s balls in one hand as he lets Harry snug up against his gag reflex, lets him in deep. Harry whimpers, and his legs tremble. 

Nick loves that part, when Harry starts to shake. 

“Nick,” Harry whispers again. “God, m'gonna come, Nick, _Nick_ -" 

And he spills down Nick’s throat with a shuddering sigh, his hand fisting in Nick’s hair for the briefest moment before he loosens his grip. Nick swallows, shivers at the momentary pain, his cock throbbing in his briefs. 

When he sits up, Harry’s grinning at him, wide and stupid. 

"What?” Nick says, cheeks flushing, wiping his mouth with one hand. “Have I got come on my face or sommat?" 

Harry shakes his head. 

"Stop bleedin’ staring at me then,” Nick says sheepishly, ducking his head, and Harry tweaks Nick’s earlobe between two fingers. 

“Hey,” he says. “Can you fuck me?" 

Nick looks up, raising an eyebrow. "You’ve only just come." 

"I know,” Harry says, still smiling. “But I’ve been feeling like - like I want it. Please, Grim?" 

He shimmies under Nick’s hands, his cock soft and spent, his face hopeful. It’s mad, the way his body is, all sharp angles and smooth curves. Nick’s never wanted to explore someone the way he does Harry, run his mouth over every bit. The dark soft curls between his thighs, his absurdly long legs, his pink nipples - 

His arse, his sweet small arse, which he’s showing off right now, rolling onto his stomach and looking back over one shoulder. 

Nick stares, slackjawed, reaches a hand down to rub himself through his briefs. Harry’s still wearing his t-shirt, but it’s rucked up around his waist, and his briefs are tangled somewhere around his knees, and he looks edible, like that. Disheveled and eager. 

"Sure?” Nick says, already pulling at Harry’s briefs, sliding them down his calves and dropping them on the floor of the car. He’s bare from the waist down, all pale skin. 

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, arching his hips. “Please, Nick, do it." 

Nick keeps slick in the glove compartment, and he leaves Harry right there, on his belly, and reaches forward to fumble for it. 

Harry is sensitive, since he’s just got off. He shudders at the first touch of Nick’s fingers, and then yelps when he accidentally bangs his head against the car door, and Nick takes his hands off, laughing softly. 

"Here,” he says, poking at Harry’s hip. “Turn over, go on your back." 

Harry looks doubtful, but he does, and Nick takes one of his legs, hooks it up over the back of the seat - sets his other foot on the floor, so Harry’s spread open. Harry likes that, when Nick moves him around like a doll. His cock’s already starting to bob back up against his belly, and his eyes are very dark. 

Nick grabs their other pillow, slips it easy under Harry’s back, tilting his arse up. That’ll work. 

He takes a second just to look, while he’s slicking up his fingers again. 

"You’re so beautiful,” he says, hushed and choked from his throat. It still feels wrong to say that, to think that - but bloody hell, it’s true. No one’s beautiful like Harry. And no one’s around for miles who can hear Nick say it. 

Harry just smiles, dimple peeking out, eyes luminous. 

“C'mon,” he says, shifting his weight, spreading his legs wider. “Fuck me." 

Nick shakes his head, slowly, and leans down to kiss him. 

They fuck close and slow, Nick rolling his hips, watching the way Harry’s face shifts with every thrust. He’s the one who hasn’t come yet, but somehow Harry’s getting there before him - red-faced, his cock hard, biting his bottom lip and staring up at Nick like he’ll die if Nick stops fucking him. 

"Alright?” Nick says, on one particularly deep thrust, when Harry’s face tenses up and then goes slack all over, eyes fluttering. 

“Yeah,” Harry groans. “Yeah, it’s so good." 

Nick loves him very fiercely, right then, and he rolls his hips faster, panting now, groping for Harry’s face to kiss him. 

Harry can barely kiss, overwhelmed with being fucked, but he keeps his mouth open for Nick’s tongue and keeps moaning against him and it’s good, it’s so good.

He comes in the same breath as Harry, his hand tightening in Harry’s soft hair, and Harry spurts again, hot on his belly, his body twitching as he comes down. 

"Fucking _hell_ , you’re perfect,” Nick mumbles against his neck, and Harry makes a warm pleased sound in his throat and kisses him. 

When they’re cleaned up, they get sorted for bed, ending up sprawled   in the backseat with clean pants on, tucked under Nick’s thick blanket. 

Harry’s on top of him, a warm weight, and he lifts his head, sleepily kisses Nick’s neck. 

“You know, it feels like that for me too,” he whispers into the quiet dark. “Like. Like it’s not awful. Like I’m alright, even with - how I am." 

He shifts, swallows audibly. 

"No one ever made me feel like I’m alright,” he mumbles. “Ever.”

Nick’s throat clenches. 

“Yeah, love you too,” he says, lightly, and Harry huffs a laugh into his ear, pulls him down to sleep. 


End file.
